The walk to Fuegoleon's office unfolded with more life than Xierra had expected.
She moved ahead in short, buoyant steps, energy spilling from her without restraint, as though the walls themselves invited her curiosity. Rhein kept an even pace beside her, hands tucked into his pockets, posture loose and unhurried. Between them, Inari traveled with an air of leisure, paws light against the stone as he carried a tune that wound through the corridor in careful notes, each sound fitting neatly into the next.
The space between them stayed comfortable, filled not with talk but with motion and sound. Xierra began to follow Inari's melody, her voice quiet yet certain, catching fragments she had learned simply by listening to him day after day. The music tugged at something inside her—ideas, images, feelings she never quite knew how to name—yet she welcomed it all the same.
After a while, she slowed her steps, matching Rhein's stride. Her hands folded behind her back as her attention drifted upward.
The ceilings stretched high above them, etched with elaborate carvings that spoke of wealth, tradition, and hands that had labored over every curve and line. Nobles and their indulgences, she thought, though the thought came with a fond smile rather than judgment.
"This place is quite big," Inari remarked, his tone rough but easy as he hopped onto a low wall to survey the stretch of hallway ahead.
"You finally noticed," Xierra replied, shifting aside to clear the path for a passing Magic Knight. The knight dipped his head in thanks before continuing, and she returned the gesture with a polite smile. "There's always time to explore, though."
Inari's ears flicked. "Speaking of exploring," he began, climbing onto her shoulder with practiced balance, "there's a library here, Master."
Her attention snapped back to him. "Really?"
"At the northern end of the building," Rhein added, glancing over with a hint of pride. "Are you interested? It's bigger than most squad libraries. I can take you there once we're done today."
"Interested?" Xierra repeated, her voice lifting. "Of course, I am! I'd love that!"
Her excitement burst free in a bright sound she didn't bother holding back. Rhein laughed in response, loud and unguarded, paying no mind to the looks cast their way by idle Magic Knights. It still caught him off guard how easily she lit up at the mention of books, as though a library held more promise than any battlefield.
"Left," he noted, reaching out to guide her when she nearly took the wrong turn.
"Ah—right," she corrected herself with a sheepish grin.
The corridors twisted and branched in ways that felt deliberately confusing. Xierra struggled to keep track of where they were, holding onto only the familiar paths that led to the training grounds or the cafeteria. Rhein, on the other hand, navigated without pause, turning corners as though the layout lived comfortably in his memory.
"You've been here a lot, haven't you?" she asked, watching him.
"Yeah," he answered. "I spent a lot of time here growing up. With Leo and his siblings."
"Right. You're cousins."
"Distant ones," Rhein clarified with a shrug. "But close enough, I suppose. Most of the Vermillions end up in this squad anyway, so I learned this place early. Every turn, every door. This place is practically a maze, so I get why you'd be lost."
"Calling it a maze doesn't sound very affectionate," a new voice cut in.
It carried weight—low, steady—and caught Xierra's attention at once.
Rhein rounded the corner and collided with a man before he could stop himself. The stranger stood taller than them, his build lean and narrow, and his presence composed despite the impact.
"Oh—Randall!" Rhein blurted, rubbing at his nose as his tone shifted into something more formal. "Sir."
Xierra stepped up beside him, posture straight. Her eyes traced the man's features without staring for too long: the brown hair with a slight wave, the darker eyes, the stubble lining his jaw. His stance appeared relaxed, yet there was a sense of awareness beneath it, as though nothing around him ever truly escaped notice.
She bowed slightly. "We're sorry, sir. That was our fault."
"It's fine," he replied, waving the apology away. His gaze flicked to her briefly, catching the small step she took back, and his expression eased. "Didn't mean to startle you, either."
Rhein glanced at her, offering a crooked smile, then gestured between them. "Xierra, this is Sir Randall. Our Vice Captain."
"Randall Luftair," the man introduced, offering a simple salute before extending his hand. "Nice to meet you."
Xierra hesitated, then accepted the handshake. His grip was firm but not forceful. He laughed lightly as he released her hand. "So you're the girl everyone's been talking about."
"Me?" she asked, blinking.
"A boy without magic, another one chosen by the winds," Randall continued, amused. "And a girl with a talking fox. Not every day you see a mismatched group like that."
Randall's gaze settled on the fox perched upon Xierra's shoulder, measured and sharp. Inari met it without retreat, eyes narrowed in kind. The air between them tightened—not hostile, but alert, like two sentries recognizing one another's posts.
Randall had already read the reports. As Vice Captain, the details never skipped him—especially not a patrol that had unraveled into chaos, or a mission briefing tangled with intervention from people who preferred the shadows. And then there was her. A girl whose name appeared alongside incidents that refused to remain small.
"Stop that, Randall," Rhein drawled, reaching up to pat the man's arm with careless familiarity. "You're staring again. You already scared her once."
Randall let out a laugh and, just like that, whatever tension coiled in his shoulders released. He tapped his side and leaned back a step, grin easy and unguarded. "Sorry, kid. Got carried away. Didn't mean to make it uncomfortable." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I'll admit, the reaction was priceless."
"He's like this with everyone," Rhein added. "You'll get used to it."
Xierra offered a noncommittal sound, fingers tightening briefly against the fabric at her side.
Randall's attention shifted. "Your personal form," he remarked, nodding toward the leather pouch secured at his waist, its contents weighted with folded pages. At her puzzled look, his mouth tilted upward. "You filled one out when you arrived. Well, second day, technically. That's how we found out about you."
Understanding dawned across Xierra's features, followed by something quieter. "So that's how you knew about Asta and Yuno."
"Pretty much." Randall shrugged. "Same village, middle of nowhere, and all three of you standing out in your own ways. Hard not to notice. Especially when people won't stop talking."
She let the comment pass without response. Rumors had a way of growing teeth when acknowledged, and she had no interest in feeding them.
Randall cleared his throat. "Leo mentioned your name to me yesterday. Xierra, right?" His tone softened, less teasing now, as though he meant to reset their footing. "Thought I should hear it from you."
Xierra straightened and bowed, the movement practiced but sincere. "Right, sorry about the late introduction, Vice Captain Randall. My name is Xierra," she introduced. "And this is Inari." She reached up, tapping the fox's nose lightly.
Inari sneezed, affronted. "Master. That was unnecessary."
Randall's laugh burst out of him, bright and genuine. "He really does talk." His eyes gleamed with interest as he took a careful mental note of every detail. "First time I've seen one like him."
"And now you will see me often," Inari replied smugly, tail flicking back and forth.
Randall hummed, then adjusted the pouch at his waist. "Well, I've got reports to sort through before the day runs away from me." He glanced at Rhein and clapped a hand against his back, the force earning a startled cough. "And you, behave yourself."
"You're one to talk," Rhein shot back, rubbing his shoulder.
Randall raised a brow. "Your brother worries 'bout you, you know."
Rhein crossed his arms. "Don't need that."
"You will." Randall ruffled his hair and sidestepped the swat aimed at him. "One day."
Xierra covered her mouth, failing to hide her amusement. She stepped ahead, turning to offer a small wave. "We should go too. Good luck, Vice Captain."
"Tell the captain I said hello."
Randall watched them disappear around the corner—Rhein grumbling, Xierra matching his pace with easy familiarity, the fox glancing back once before settling again. His smile faded into something thoughtful.
A cloaked group. A scarred man without eyebrows. A patrol that should never have gone wrong.
He exhaled and shook his head, patting the stack of papers at his side. "This year's already shaping up to be interesting."
.
.
.
Rhein raised his hand and rapped against the door, careful with the strength he used. The wood responded with a dull, restrained sound—enough to announce their presence, not enough to intrude. He knew Fuegoleon woke before the sun more often than not. Sometimes Rhein wondered if the man slept at all, or if rest simply found him in other ways, hidden behind closed doors and unread expressions.
"You may come in."
The voice reached them through the door, firm but welcoming. When they stepped inside, its depth eased, warmth settling naturally into the space as if the office itself responded to its owner.
"Oh. Leo." Rhein's mouth curved upward as he spotted the familiar red hair. He dipped his chin in greeting. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Me neither!" Leopold answered with a bark of laughter, his grin wide and unapologetic.
The office didn't hold the quiet dignity of an early morning. Instead, harsh sunlight filtered in through tall windows, catching on shelves lined with books and the polished surface of Fuegoleon's desk. Reports lay stacked with careful intent, inked pages weighed down by correspondence bound together to keep them from drifting apart.
Fuegoleon set aside the papers in his hands and interlaced his fingers, studying them with a calm attentiveness that made Xierra straighten without realizing she had done so. His smile held no sharp edges. "Please. Sit. Both of you."
Leopold shifted closer to the bookshelf, leaning his shoulder against it. His usual energy dimmed into something quieter, though it still flared beneath the surface. The faint shadows beneath his eyes betrayed what his voice did not. He closed them briefly, the markings around his corner lids standing out against his skin.
As Xierra took her seat, the familiar weight on her shoulder faded. Inari released a breath she hadn't noticed she was waiting for and vanished from sight. The air felt lighter without him there, though she suspected he hadn't gone far—perhaps stretching his legs somewhere unseen, or folding himself into a corner where the world wouldn't bother him for a few moments.
"Leo and Rhein informed me of the situation last night," Fuegoleon began, moving the remaining clutter aside until the desk stood clear. "Your first mission placed you in circumstances that should never have escalated as they did. That responsibility falls on us." He inclined his head. "I regret that we were unable to support you when it mattered."
The gesture caught both of them off guard. Rhein shifted, glancing sideways at Xierra, who mirrored his unease. Neither spoke for a breath too long.
"That's really not necessary," Rhein replied, waving it off with a stiff motion. He leaned back, tension visible in the way his shoulders refused to settle. "It wasn't something anyone could've predicted."
Xierra nodded, adding her agreement with the smallest motion. The memory still sat heavily, but it wasn't the blame that she carried from it.
Fuegoleon's expression softened further, gratitude passing through his eyes before he turned his attention fully toward her. "I've heard Rhein's account. I would like to hear yours as well, Xierra."
She drew in a breath and adjusted her posture, folding her hands neatly atop her knees. "It may take some time."
"That is acceptable."
She talked through the mission as she remembered it, covering the important moments without writing anything down. Rhein stepped in when something slipped her mind, filling the gaps easily. Fuegoleon stayed quiet, focused on their words, showing he understood as the story came together.
When she finished, the room settled into thoughtful silence.
"The Magic Investigation Department is examining what was left behind," Fuegoleon finally shared, fingers brushing his chin as his eyes closed briefly in contemplation. "So far, they have uncovered nothing decisive."
Rhein exhaled and stretched his legs out, joints protesting. "That bad, huh?"
Leopold tilted his head. "Even your brother's struggling."
Rhein scoffed, though there was little humor behind it. "If he's also stuck, then yeah. That's not great news."
"The pocket watch their leader abandoned carries significance," Fuegoleon added. "Combined with their behavior, it suggests ties to extremist factions within noble circles."
Xierra's brow knit together. The memory of disdain-filled words rose unbidden. "That aligns with what he said," she noted. "He spoke as though commoners were beneath notice. Like something less than human."
Fuegoleon regarded her with renewed interest, then nodded. "Your observation is valuable. Every detail brings us closer to understanding who stands against us."
Relief flickered faintly through her chest. She hadn't spoken in vain.
"For now," Fuegoleon continued, offering them a calm smile, "that will be all. Thank you—for your honesty, and for your bravery."
"We did well, didn't we?" Rhein returned, his grin wide and unguarded, the kind that came only when he chased approval and caught it. Xierra nodded, mirroring with her own smile.
"Yes," Fuegoleon answered without pause. "Splendidly."
"What a good day to be alive! Isn't that right, Partner?" The captain's gaze remained steady even as Rhein surged forward and wrapped Xierra in an embrace that stole the air from her lungs. It was far too tight, far too enthusiastic, and entirely sincere. Fuegoleon watched the struggle with faint amusement written into the lines of his face.
"It is regrettable that a life was lost," he continued, voice measured, neither cold nor distant. "But others were spared. For a first mission, you both carried yourselves well."
Xierra finally slipped free, coughing as she shoved Rhein back with what little strength she could muster. "Are you trying to kill me?!"
He laughed, unfazed. "Oh, don't worry. You won't go down that easily."
Fuegoleon's attention shifted to his younger brother. Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them—expectation, trust. "Leo," he added, "on future assignments, you will assist Randall with background checks."
"Yes, sir!" Leopold answered at once, posture snapping straight despite the fatigue clinging to him.
Satisfied, Fuegoleon rose and approached them, motioning toward the door. His steps were unhurried, his presence grounding, and he allowed himself a brief laugh when Xierra retreated a full step away from Rhein, wary of a second ambush.
"It has been a long first mission," he noted, resting one hand at his side as he opened the door.
A flicker of movement caught his eye.
From the corner of the room, a dark shape stirred and climbed back to its familiar perch. Inari stretched, fur bristling as he yawned wide enough to show his fangs, limbs loose with sleep.
"Damn right it was," the fox grumbled, eyes still half-closed.
Xierra's hand came down without mercy. "Language."
Fuegoleon laughed again, genuinely this time. He studied the pair—girl and fox, bound together in a way few partnerships ever were—and found no reason to doubt them. His hand settled briefly against Xierra's back, a steady, reassuring pressure.
"You carry many responsibilities already," he remarked.
She exhaled, shoulders easing. "The more, the merrier."
A faint smile crossed his face at that. With a final nod, he ushered them out, patting Rhein and Leopold with unmistakable pride. "Thank you for your cooperation. Leave the rest to me."
"And now," Leopold declared, thrusting a fist into the air, "for a long and fulfilling rest!"
Xierra glanced between the brothers. Neither looked like they had slept at all. Amusement softened into something gentler as she guided them forward, hands pressing at their shoulders. Before leaving the doorway, she turned back and saluted.
"Vice Captain Randall sends his regards, Captain."
"Oh? Thank you," Fuegoleon replied, interest sparking. He leaned against the frame, arms folding as he watched the trio unravel into familiar chaos. "Then you should all return to your rooms. Preferably before Xierra collapses from babysitting you three." Xierra didn't know he had it in him to joke, with the seriousness he put up whenever she saw him.
"What Brother said," Leopold agreed instantly.
Rhein clicked his tongue, backing off with visible effort, resisting the urge to tug on Leopold's braid. "You'd better not pull anything behind my back, Leo."
"No promises!"
"Hey—!!"
"Bed," Leopold ordered, hands braced at his hips, confidence buoyed by the thinnest margin of seniority. "We don't know when the next mission comes. Stay ready."
Fuegoleon shook his head fondly and shut the door, leaving behind muffled complaints and laughter. Outside, Rhein groaned as Leopold's hand came down a little too hard on his back.
"So," Leopold grinned, eyes alight despite the exhaustion, "what do you say, newbies?"
"Aye-aye, sir," Xierra replied, laughter threading through her voice.
Rhein scowled. "Are we still newbies?"
"Wrong answer!"
"Argh—stop hitting me like that! Leo, you shithead, come back here!!"
.
.
.
"We are what now?"
"...Come again?"
Rhein and Xierra stared at Leopold in perfect unison, then slowly turned to each other, eyes narrowing with the same wary thought. The way Leopold stood there—hands planted on his hips, chest puffed out, grin far too bright for the hour—already told them this was not going to be a quiet morning.
The fact that he had stormed into the library at a new dawn and dragged Rhein in by the collar only confirmed it.
This day is going unexplainably great, Xierra caught herself thinking, the irony sharp enough to taste. Or maybe not.
Mornings had settled into a pattern lately. Read. Train. Eat. Repeat. A loop so predictable it almost felt borrowed. Yesterday had dissolved into ink-stained hours and the weight of books stacked too high for comfort. Xierra had barely noticed the sun sinking past the tall windows, too absorbed in brittle pages and cramped notes.
Randall had occupied the opposite desk, drowning in daily mission logs and loose papers, occasionally sliding over a cup of oddly fragrant coffee that kept her upright far longer than she should have been. He had stepped out for refills—
—and that was when the doors flew open.
Leopold's laughter burst into the library like a thrown stone. It rebounded off marble columns and vaulted ceilings, scattering the fragile stillness into pieces. Several Magic Knights glanced up from their reading in visible irritation.
"You heard me loud and clear, little ones!" Leopold crowed, slapping Rhein's back hard enough to jolt him awake. "Your actions at Saussy Village reached the Wizard King himself! That deserves more excitement!"
Xierra winced at the sound of skin meeting fabric harshly. Rhein swayed on his feet, eyes glassy, barely clinging to consciousness.
Leopold finally eased off, his grin settling into something warmer as he placed both hands on their shoulders. Pride radiated from him, impossible to miss. "As expected of my rivals!"
"We're a year apart," Rhein grumbled, rubbing his arm. "Stop calling us 'little.' And seriously—what do they feed you here? Fried bricks?"
"They feed us normal mea—"
"Forget it," Rhein cut in, waving him off. "So what are you actually saying?"
Leopold blinked, then lit up again. "Oh! We got a star! One more added to the squad's record. Good work, both of you!"
Xierra smiled, small but genuine. The library felt brighter somehow, even with Leopold's volume threatening to shatter it. Chaos had a strange way of following her lately, and while she would never admit it aloud, she preferred this noise to silence. It reminded her of home. Of Asta. Of days that never stayed dull for long.
Rhein collapsed into a nearby velvet seat, careful not to disturb Inari, who was curled beside him. His hand moved absently through the fox's fur, slow and tired. "Must be nice," he muttered under his breath. "Sleeping like that. I was, too, until a certain muscle-brain decided to barge my wonderful nap."
Xierra laughed under her breath and turned to Leopold, who had already wandered off toward another aisle, eyes shining as he examined books he had likely read before. Watching him, she felt a familiar tug in her chest—a strange awareness she hadn't possessed before her grimoire chose her.
Thoughts slipped into reach too easily now. Feelings brushed against her senses without warning. Everything odd in her life seemed to trace back to that moment.
She settled beside Rhein again, knees tucked close, and returned to the page she had marked earlier. Her fingers slid over the paper with practiced ease before she turned it, eyes skimming lines as if they were familiar paths rather than dense text.
"You read fast," Rhein remarked, glancing over with an idle smile. He reached for one of the books stacked near her elbow, lifting it with a curious hum. "And these aren't exactly light reading either."
Xierra laughed, resting her cheek against her palm as she angled her head toward him. "Picked up a useful habit somewhere along the way."
"Oh?" He raised a brow. "Let me guess. Hoarding information?"
"Close," she replied, amused. "But not quite."
He flipped the book open, squinting at the cramped symbols and unfamiliar terminology. After a moment, his face twisted in defeat. He tried another volume, then another, each attempt ending the same way. "I don't get any of these. I probably don't have enough cells working in my brain right now."
"They take time," she admitted, setting her own book aside and leaning back against the cushioned seat. "And patience."
"So what, then?" He closed the book and leaned forward. "You planning to be a researcher?"
She shook her head. "No."
"A strategist?" he pressed. "You've got the head for it."
She laughed again, softer this time. "Still no. Bigger than that."
Rhein stared at her, then scoffed. "You planning on conquering the world?"
She nudged his arm, light but pointed. "Absolutely not. I can't even beat Leopold in a spar. World domination's a stretch."
He sighed and leaned back, folding his arms beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling. "What bigger dream is there than becoming Wizard King? Or queen." His voice carried something wistful, something tired. "It's already so far away."
"I know," Xierra answered quietly. Her hand found Inari's head, fingers brushing through his fur. His ear twitched at the touch, earning a small smile from her. "I know."
Rhein turned his head toward her. "Then why?"
She met his gaze without hesitation. Around them, the library rested in a rare calm—rows of books standing tall, Leopold's distant steps fading between shelves. The chandeliers above remained unlit, leaving the wide windows to pour daylight into the room.
It was bright. Almost too bright.
For a fleeting second, Rhein had to shield his eyes as sunlight caught her face just right, framing her in gold and dust and quiet certainty.
"A dream wouldn't be a dream if it wasn't just a little out of reach now, would it?" She smiled at him then, gentle and unwavering. "And, uh, say... is it a good thing?"
Xierra's voice carried a note of genuine curiosity as she pointed toward the star Leopold had sprinted back to retrieve, breathless and grinning as if he had forgotten to take back treasure. The object rested in his palm, catching the daylight with a quiet gleam.
"What is?" Rhein didn't look up from the book he picked up with reluctance, brows furrowing in an attempt to understand the one line he had read over and over again.
"The star. Is it something like a point system? A way to keep track of us?"
Rhein squinted at it, then at Leopold, unimpressed. "I'm more shocked that Leo was so fired up he forgot to come get it earlier—right after hauling me here forcefully by the collar."
Leopold paid him no mind. His answer came with an eager nod, shoulders straightening as though he had been waiting for this question all morning. "Yes! I suppose I never explained it to you properly, Xierra." A laugh burst out of him, open and bright. "These stars are awarded directly by the Wizard King, based on performance."
Xierra tilted her head. "That's it?"
Her brows knit together as she leaned closer, one hand settling beneath her chin. The star was small—no larger than a pin—yet crafted with deliberate care. Five points, golden sheen, beveled edges that caught light at different angles. It had weight, not in mass, but in meaning. She imagined rows of them lined up, glinting with quiet pride.
"They'd look nice as actual pins," she muttered, half to herself. "Shame they're just numbers."
"Well, not just numbers," Rhein cut in, sparing her from Leopold's famously long-winded lecture. He shifted closer, lowering his voice as if passing along insider knowledge. "They're more like... proof. Bragging rights, in a way."
"Proof?" Her gaze flicked back to him.
"Yeah. Magic Knight squads compete for them. The higher the count, the more work a squad's done—and the more recognition they've earned."
Understanding settled over her features. The confusion drained from her eyes, replaced by something steadier. She nodded once, slow and thoughtful, no longer resembling someone left behind in the conversation.
Rhein watched that change with a faint smile. "If we're talking numbers, the Golden Dawn's leading right now. Seventy stars, last I checked."
Her eyes widened. "Seventy? That's a lot, isn't it?"
Rhein leaned back, gaze drifting upward as he counted silently. "Given that the current Wizard King's only been in office a few years? Yeah. It's impressive."
"And fast," Leopold added, letting out a low whistle.
Xierra crossed her arms, lips pursing as she shifted her weight onto one leg. The thought gnawed at her—quiet, persistent. Stars. Squads. Rankings. She wondered how much any of it would matter in the long run. How far behind she already was.
Maybe I should've followed Yuno after all.
Leopold brightened again, clearly delighted by her contemplative silence. "Want to know how many stars we have?"
"No," Xierra replied immediately, holding up a hand. "I value my health. I'd rather not collapse before lunch."
Then, just as quickly, her expression shifted. A spark of mischief flickered through her eyes. "Although starting from the middle of the ranks and catching up sounds more fun than being on the same level from the start. Wouldn't you agree?"
Rhein blinked. "Catching up?" He glanced at her, curiosity sharpening his tone. "You mean with the other rookie everyone keeps talking about? Yuno, was it?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Yuno and Asta grew up in the same village as me."
"Hage," Leopold recalled, tapping his chin. "This just keeps getting better."
Rhein picked up one of her books absently, flipping through its pages while reclining deeper into the velvet seat. "And why exactly is that?"
Leopold's grin stretched wider, pride practically radiating off him. "Because both of you became famous the moment the exams ended." He folded his arms, eyes closed as if savoring the memory. "You had every captain watching you. Amazing offers, all around."
Xierra froze.
"...We did?"
"Now that you mention it," Rhein cut in, snapping the book shut with a dull thump against his palm. He angled his head toward Leopold, matching the older boy's bright expression with one of his own. "I've never heard of a single participant getting every captain to raise their hand. Not once. At least—until a few days ago."
"Exactly!" Leopold lifted two fingers right in front of Xierra's face, eyes shining with barely contained excitement. "And not just one, but two in the same year! That's practically unheard of." His grin widened, pride bleeding into every word. "And one of them is one of us!"
Their excitement filled the space between the towering shelves, warm and unrestrained. Rhein's smile deepened, lines gathering beside his eyes as his gaze flicked toward Xierra, unmistakably pleased. There was something earnest in it—less teasing, more awe.
Xierra paused, the weight of their words brushing against her ribs before she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. She tilted her head, amusement softening her features as she met Leopold's gaze. "I'll take that as a compliment, then," she replied, voice light as she nudged his shoulder. "Coming from you, especially."
"Compliment?" Leopold scoffed, brows drawing together as if the very idea offended him. "That's selling it short." He leaned closer, hands planted on his hips. "You should be proud. What you showed out there? That kind of power doesn't go unnoticed."
His tone sharpened with conviction. "Train it right, polish it, and you'll climb the ranks faster than you think!"
Xierra let out a small hum, half-thoughtful, half-amused. She nodded along to his spirited lecture, offering the occasional agreement while her fingers traced the spine of a nearby book. The praise settled somewhere quiet in her chest—not loud, not overwhelming, but steady.
Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.
For once, the thought didn't feel like wishful thinking.
.
.
.
"Oh, right."
Leopold came to a sudden stop, boots skidding just enough to send both Rhein and Xierra bumping into his back.
The corridor had been bathed in late-morning light, pale gold slipping through tall windows and stretching across the stone floor, but the calm was shattered the moment Leopold spun around on his heel. His grin came sharp and bright, canine teeth catching the light like sparks.
"Leo, dude!" Rhein stumbled back a step, irritation flashing across his face as he clicked his tongue. "You can't just stop like that out of nowhere."
Xierra let out a small, awkward laugh, steadying herself while Leopold burst into another round of hearty guffaws, utterly unapologetic.
"I almost forgot," Leopold announced, eyes gleaming as if he'd just remembered something delightful. He dug through his pockets with exaggerated motions, patting himself down until his face lit up in triumph. "Ah—there it is!"
He thrust forward two small, weathered pouches, the dull clink inside unmistakable as metal knocked against metal. "Your payments!" he declared. "I didn't get the chance to hand them over the other night—you were already out cold. And I kinda forgot."
Rhein squinted. "What about me?" he protested, voice dragging. "I stayed up with you all night, remember? How could you even forget?"
Leopold blinked, then laughed again, unbothered. "It slipped my mind." He planted his hands on his hips, grin unwavering. "Still, great work out there!"
Rhein snatched one pouch and passed the other to Xierra without much thought. Curious, he tugged the strings loose and peeked inside—and promptly froze.
"...There's a ridiculous amount of yuls in here," he breathed, staring at Leopold as if the older boy had lost his mind. "I could clear out half the shops in town with this."
His excitement bubbled over almost immediately. He turned toward Xierra, already forming plans aloud—new clothes, food stalls, maybe something entirely unnecessary just for the thrill of it.
She didn't respond.
Xierra stood still, the pouch heavy in her hands, its weight sinking deeper than metal ever could. The color drained from her face as she stared down at it, fingers curling tight around the worn leather. For a moment, the hallway blurred, replaced by memories of patched roofs, thin winters, and meals stretched farther than they should have been.
"T-This is..." Her voice faltered. "It's too much."
"Too much?" Rhein repeated, baffled. "I mean, sure, it's a lot—but it's nothing compared to the allowance my parents used to hand me."
The words slipped out easily. Too easily.
Xierra exhaled through her nose, grip tightening before she forced herself to relax. She didn't look at him. She didn't need to. He hadn't meant any harm—she knew that. He had grown up surrounded by abundance, by comfort that never once questioned itself. Habits like that didn't disappear overnight.
Leopold let out a short laugh, breaking the tension before it could deepen. "Don't worry so much!" he called, already stepping away. "This won't be the last time you're paid." He waved over his shoulder. "Spend it wisely!"
"Or don't!" Rhein claimed, swinging his pouch with pride. "We'll get paid again in no time! Time to be irresponsible and waste all these."
Leopold, with his signature laugh, waved a hand without looking at them and shook his head. "Well, you two do you. I'll get going now, Randall's calling for me!"
They straightened instinctively, offering quick salutes—smiles worn from excitement more than anything else.
"Oh—and Xierra!" Leopold stopped and turned back, hands lacing behind his head. His grin softened just a little. "You're going to be doing bigger things soon. Both of you are." He tilted his head, eyes bright. "So get used to seeing sums like that. Maybe even more, if you keep improving!"
Xierra blinked, the words sinking in a beat too late. Heat rushed to her face. "Y-Yes, sir!"
"Good!" Leopold laughed again. "Today's a day off. Don't waste it!"
"Yes, sir..."
As his footsteps faded, Xierra looked down at the pouch once more. It still felt unreal—but for the first time, it didn't feel quite as frightening.
Maybe this was what moving forward looked like.
.
.
.
With a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Xierra lowered her eyes to the brown leather pouch resting in her palms. The surface was scuffed and creased, worn thin by other hands before hers, and the weight of it pulled slightly at her wrists. She hesitated, then loosened the strings.
Light spilled out in sharp flashes.
Gold coins caught the corridor's daylight and scattered it back at her, bright enough to force a blink. Her shoulders drew tight as surprise settled deep in her chest. She hadn't expected payment so soon—hadn't expected to see this much at all.
Better than nothing, she reasoned quietly, fingers curling around the pouch's edge. Not that I'm complaining.
Rhein noticed her frozen posture and barely held back a laugh. He stepped closer and gave her back a firm, grounding pat. "You'll get used to it, buddy."
She huffed, lifting her head. "I'm not refusing good money."
That earned a wider grin. Rhein shook his head, laughter breaking free this time, unrestrained and bright. The sound tugged at a familiar memory—Leopold's unfiltered cheer, the way his presence filled every room. Thinking back on it, most of the Magic Knights she had met so far shared that warmth. Easy smiles. Open gestures. An unexpected kindness that she was still learning how to accept.
Of course, kindness never came alone.
There were whispers, too. Curious looks that weighed a little too heavily. Each time they appeared, Rhein had stepped forward without hesitation—sharp words ready, posture unyielding. He met judgment head-on, pride bristling like a shield. He never left her to face it alone.
The thought eased something tight in her chest.
A small laugh slipped out before she could stop it.
Rhein tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "What's funny?"
"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "Just a thought."
He hummed, clearly unconvinced, then let it slide. His gaze drifted instead to the fox draped over her shoulders. "You're quiet today, Inari. That's new."
"Oh, worry not," Inari replied, voice thick with indulgence. "I am merely restraining my intense craving for honey-dipped meats." He drew in a dramatic breath and flicked his tail against Xierra's side. "Care to reward your loyal companion, Master? I have worked tirelessly."
"...Uh-huh." Xierra stared ahead, refusing to meet his eyes as they stopped in front of her door. "Maybe later. After I sort out necessities."
"Necessities?!" Inari recoiled. "The base provides everything we require—for you and me!"
"I still need to send some of these back to the church," she answered evenly, grip tightening around the pouch.
Rhein leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing as he watched the exchange with amusement. "You're not winning this, Inari. Save the effort."
"Give up?!" Inari yelped. "Never! I refuse to abandon honey-dipped meats! Such perfection may never grace my palate again!"
"Is it really that amazing?" Rhein asked, brows lifting. "There's better food out there."
"And don't you get tired of it?" Xierra added, finally glancing at him. "Rhein bought you more than enough after Saussy to feed an entire table. I'm surprised your teeth survived."
Inari ignored them entirely, eyes half-lidded as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. He swayed slightly, tail twitching. "Tender meat... glazed in sweetness... ah, bliss."
"Inari?" Xierra pinched the bridge of her nose, then turned to Rhein. "Meet you at the entrance in ten minutes?"
"Make it twenty," he replied with an easy smile. "I'll get ready." He paused. "Shopping?"
"Yes," she answered, resigned. "For meat."
He laughed outright. "Learning to cook now?"
She hesitated, then nodded. Her gaze slid back to Inari, who had begun muttering incoherently. "Probably. I can't live on nomotatoes forever."
The appetite of a fox was no small thing.
She remembered Saussy—how Inari had devoured the villagers' offerings without pause, how they'd barely managed to carry what remained. Maybe this time, she could prepare properly. Maybe she could use a few yuls for something warm and filling. Something shared.
The thought settled gently as she stepped inside, already planning how far the coins in her pouch could stretch.
.
.
.
The room had settled into a comfortable stillness, the sort that only appeared once sunlight thinned into a pale wash against stone walls. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, catching gold along their edges before vanishing again. Xierra stood near her desk, fingers hovering above the clean wooden surface.
It stared back at her—unmarked, expectant.
Maybe I'll write a quick letter to the ones back in Hage, she thought, eyes tracing the elegant curve of the quill laid beside the ink bottle. The feather was pristine, almost too refined for her grip. She hummed under her breath, pacing a slow, uneven line across the room before finally dropping into the chair. The wood creaked faintly beneath her weight.
"Yeah... twenty minutes will suffice."
The words sounded braver aloud.
Inari chose that moment to spring down from her shoulders, landing lightly atop the bed. The mattress dipped as he circled once, tail swaying in an idle arc before settling beside her. "What are you doing, Master? Writing home?"
She glanced back, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. "Yeah," she replied, reaching for the quill. "I'm planning to send most of our money back to the church. For everyone."
A small smile tugged at her lips as she dipped the quill into ink, careful not to spill a drop. "How does that sound?"
Inari's eyes curved with amusement. He gave an approving nod. "That would be wonderful for the children. Quite mood-lifting, I'd say."
"Then it's decided." Xierra exhaled and turned back to the desk. "I'll write it quickly. They're probably wondering how we're doing."
She slid open one of the drawers, rifling through its contents in search of spare sheets. The maids had stocked the desk generously—more than she needed, honestly. She'd already tucked away anything overly extravagant, stacking delicate ornaments into corners she wouldn't brush past. Fragile things had a way of breaking around her, and she'd learned long ago not to tempt fate.
Truthfully, the room held more than she knew what to do with. All she needed was the bed, the wardrobe, the desk, the quill, and the paper. The rest felt like borrowed luxury, unworn and unnecessary. Decorations. Half the wardrobe remained closed, dresses still crisp from disuse.
"If our wages were supposed to be given last night," she muttered, half to herself, "then Asta and Yuno probably sent theirs back already." Her fingers closed around a spare sheet.
"Ah—found it." She set it neatly beside the first page, then reached for the ink again. The quill hovered, then froze.
"Oh. This is bad."
Inari's ears perked. "What's bad, Master?"
"I haven't thought of what I should write."
A low chuckle left him. "Just keep it simple. Nothing beats a heartfelt letter."
Xierra let out a quiet groan, leaning back in her chair as she stared at the blank page. "I've never written one before. I don't know where to start."
"Don't overthink it," Inari replied, stretching across the bed. "It's your day off. You should enjoy it."
She leaned forward again, brow knitting as she grabbed another sheet and began scribbling scattered thoughts—short phrases, names, fragments of memory. A way to keep herself from faltering mid-sentence.
Inari rolled onto his side, tail flicking once. "You should keep some of the money too, Master. Enjoy the luxury."
She paused, quill lifted. "For myself?"
"It's our payday," he reminded her, eyes half-lidded. "Wouldn't be fun if I enjoyed it alone."
"Wouldn't that be selfish?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Inari sighed, pushing himself upright. "You're far too selfless. It's your payment. You decide what to do with it."
Her gaze drifted to the pouch resting on the desk. The soft clink of yuls inside seemed louder now. Her thoughts wandered—to the children, to full plates and warm nights, to nomotatoes stacked high enough to last weeks. Months even. If they planned carefully.
Still...
Inari hopped down and climbed back onto her shoulders, his weight familiar and steady. "Hesitation won't serve you well in battle," he reminded her. "Decisions save lives. Doubt costs them."
"...I'll remember that." She reached up, brushing her fingers through his fur. "But what would I even spend it on?"
He grinned. "You're heading to the market today, aren't you? Something will catch your eye. Or ask Rhein—he's got opinions."
She huffed. "I'll note that, too."
When she finally wrote the letter, the words came quietly, one line after another. Nothing ornate. Just pieces of herself pressed into ink—small victories, strange days, a promise that she was safe. Between sentences, she wondered if the children would understand. Maybe Sister Lily would help read it to them. Maybe Father Orsi would smile at it and shout he's proud of them, all while blowing his nose unceremoniously.
She folded the paper with measured care and slid it into an envelope, the parchment brushing against others already stacked neatly along one side of the drawer. Each bore the same mark at the corner—a crimson lion's head pressed into the paper, proud and unmistakable, stamped in ink that matched the banner colors of her squad. When she melted the wax and sealed the flap, the deep red pooled and hardened beneath the stamp, branding the letter as unmistakably theirs.
Only then did she turn back to the desk, counting out more than half the yuls with steady fingers and setting them aside for Hage.
Inari padded toward the door, glancing back. "Finished, Master?"
She nodded, slipping the pouch away. "All done."
The weight in her chest felt lighter as she stood.
"Let's go."
To Be Continued...